40 Clothing Challenge
by GraceBonnefoy
Summary: 40 Clothing Challenge by DamnBlackHeart. There are forty clothes that I have to use as themes. All separate drabbles and stories, may or may not contain smut, yaoi, or other content that makes it rated M.
1. Chapter 1: Kimono

Author's note: I saw this challenge by DamnBlackHearts somewhere - I can't quite remember. The poor thing was sitting in my laptop, waiting for me to get to it. This was the first one, and smutless. There will be smut in the next ones, hence the rating. I'm writing and I'm getting to it. I might update weekly I might not. If you want a reader insert or a specific pairing, write a review. I'm not adverse to any pairings - unless, of course, they make no sense what so ever.

1. Kimono

The streets were brightly lit with the paper lamps, and the usually empty street was full with vendors selling food and drinks, as well as game stalls. Kimono-clad men and women were walking hand-in-hand, children in yukatas were running around with a toy that they won, and crowds of younger children were surrounding an older child who was trying to catch the goldfish.

Among all these crowds was a single blond man with eyebrows that resembled caterpillars, walking around, looking a little lost.

England was supposed to meet Japan at one of the stalls, but they all looked alike. He was supposed to wait patiently for his host at one of the stalls, but what the heck, the stall served some really good sake. So here he was, half-drunk, half-moaning his misfortunes, walking around alone in a simple but classy kimono.

At the same time, a young man with emotionless eyes and dark hair was running toward the bright festival grounds. He had a troubled look on his face.

'Damn it, I'm late! Mr. England must be waiting for me.'

By the time he arrived, the festival was nearing its end and there was only the firework left. England was sitting on a rock, looking out-of-place among the couples. Men and women were holding hands, leaning on each other, and whispering sweet nothings. England cursed his luck and stood up to leave. His legs were wobbly and he had to take a moment to get his balance before walking off precariously. Some noticed his red face, others noticed his wobbly walk, but no one noticed his tears.

'Why the hell did I come here? Oh, that's right. The bloody book told me that the Japanese people thought it was romantic to watch the bloody fireworks together and go on a date at a bloody festival. Screw all that. I need a good glass of rum and a whore to keep me company.'

England was nearing the end of the lighted street and near his car when an arm came to support him.

"Mr. England, I'm sorry for being so late. I had a meeting that I had to attend."

"I don't care. I'm going back to the hotel."

"Mr. England, I'm sincerely sorry for making you wait, I really-"

"Had to leave me. You're just like America. You both abandoned me, even after everything I did for you! After all that I did to please you…"

England sobbed in a fit of anger and disappointment, and ran toward his car. He was gently pulled into a warm embrace from Japan.

"Mr. England. I'm truly sorry for being late. Please understand that it was my duty as a country. My pleasure can only come later. However, I promise you that I will place you as my priority even before my duty. I won't abandon you, Mr. England."

Japan soothingly whispered sweet nothings to the blond man in his embrace. England continued to sob but did not push him away. He calmed down a little, and looked up at the dead eyes of the man he wanted. Japan smiled down at him a little, and England blushed once more.

"Look at the sky over there, Mr. England."

"Hm?"

"We can still watch the fireworks."

"… Yeah. "

They stood there for a while, England in Japan's arms, watching the bright fire laying patterns on the jet-black night sky.

"By the way, Mr. England."

"Hm?"

"You make a good uke."

"What?!"

"I meant, your kimono is very nice. It suits you."

England looked up at Japan with a confused look on his face, and Japan just chuckled and looked back up at the sky. Life was good.

Author's Note: As much as I enjoy your reviews, I don't enjoy criticism, constructive or otherwise. I'll be back in a few days with the next chapter. Adieu!


	2. Chapter 2: Jacket

Author: Well, this is porn. Thought I'd let you know. Pretty sure the next one will be somewhat innocent. I'll update soon.

2. Jacket

England was horny.

Of course, he didn't have to worry about taking care of himself when he was horny. He had America to take care of those things for him.

Except America wasn't here now. He was off at a meeting with his boss.

Of all the time to get horny, he had to get horny now. America wasn't due back for another day, but he needed release and he needed release now.

God damn it.

After deciding to accept America's proposal to be together and form an alliance, he thought he would never have to return to his trusty right hand.

Sadly, he was wrong.

He adjusted his trousers and walked into his bedroom to fine some lubricant for his happy time.

He removed his trousers and made himself comfortable on the bed. Reaching out to the drawer, he pulled out a lube.

Okay, he was ready for some happy time.

…Well, not really. He needed some material… for motivational purposes, of course.

Cursing himself for getting rid of all his magazines, he looked around his (and America's) bedroom.

Well, there was that bomber jacket America always wore. Then there was the laptop but he would not lower himself to some cheap pornography. There was also some racy novels but they usually took too long to get to the parts he needed (of course he had them marked, but he wasn't going to admit that, even to himself.)

He would settle for the jacket.

He grabbed the jacket from the vanity table and surrounded his face with it. When he inhaled, he could smell the musky sweat, the faint grease from the constant burgers, and a smell that was just America.

It was like being held by America. The thought of America watching him as he pleasured himself was exhilarating. He imagined America holding his smaller body as England pumped himself rhythmically.

It was good, but he didn't get off. Oh, no. England couldn't possibly ejaculate from just pumping his penis, no. He lubed his finger well. He then slipped a finger inside his puckered little hole.

Oh, shit.

England moaned loudly as he felt around for his prostate. He tried to imagine that his finger was America's but his finger was slender and long, while America's fingers were much thicker and calloused.

He started thrusting back to his hands, closing his eyes shut tightly as he reached his climax.

"Oh, oh-"

"Hey, Iggy! I'm back! Hey- whoa!"

…

England didn't cum yet. But there was America, eyes wide open, staring at England.

Oh shit.

England immediately removed his hands from himself. He turned so red it would put Romano to shame – well, not really, but you get my point.

"Hey, Iggy, were you-"

"No, shut up, fuck you, you didn't see anything, goddamnit, no, no, NO!"

Well, he was really embarrassed.

"Oh, come on, Iggy. I'll help you finish."

America jumped him with perfect precision. Fucking football star.

"Ow! Bloody-"

"So, Iggy, my jacket?"

That shut him up.

Author: Well, it just happens that Iggy's my favorite victim. His reactions just make them worth it all. Next up: Geta


	3. Chapter 3: Geta

Author: This is short. Starring the cute little Italy and the big hunky piece of man-meat Germany who I would love to do XXXXXX and XXXXX with XXX and XXXXXX. ./.

3. Geta

"Ve~ Doitsu, Doitsu!"

Italy ran up to Germany and tripped.

"What is it, Italy?"

Germany asked, helping the brunette up.

"Doitsu, look!"

The smaller man exclaimed excitedly, looking down at Germany.

Wait.

Looking down?

Italy was 172cm. Germany was 180cm. Germany was taller. Italy was looking down at Germany.

What?

Germany looked up at Italy with confused eyes.

"Oi, Italy, did you grow a foot when you were visiting Japan?"

"Of course not, Doitsu! Look, look! Japan got me these shoes after I told him how I felt short when I was with you!"

Germany looked down at Italy's feet to see Italy walking on…stilts?

"See, they're called geta and they're traditional Japanese shoes and they're really really cool!"

"I-I see."

Germany replied reluctantly.

2 days later, Japan received a letter from Germany.

'Dear Japan,

I would like to ask you about the strange shoes that Italy has taken a strong liking to. They are impossibly high and very impractical. Please dissuade Italy from wearing them.

Sincerely,

Germany

P.S. I would like a pair. For research purposes, of course. Size 12.'

Author: This one's short. I'm not good with fluff. Don't judge me. Next up is corset, and probably Reader-insert mindless porn.


	4. Chapter 4: Corset

Sorry for the long wait - I was was visiting with my family for a month and when I came back I've been busy with college, among other things. I've been starting on new stories and editing them again and again and again. This is longer, and not-so-descriptive porn. The rating is M, what do you expect?

Fem!France x England. Sometime in the Regency Era.

4. Corset

Captain Kirkland could smell her sweet perfume before he turned to look at her.

Gods, it was so sweet. The flowery fruity scent made his fingers tingle. It was just like her – so sickly sweet it made him want to throw up.

He felt her presence in the room. He knew she was staring at him with those violet eyes, daring him to try something.

He let out a deep breath that he had been holding and turned around, his usual smirk firmly in place.

His mask of cool confidence nearly cracked when his weary green eyes beheld her beauty.

My, my, the girl had indeed grown into a beautiful woman. Her almost-brown, dirty blonde hair was held up stylishly by a pin, revealing her elegant swan-like neck. It looked so fragile – as if he could snap it with a single hand. Tendrils of slightly wavy hair framed her face nicely, and her smile – oh, her smile – it was so beautiful. Her dress, with her tight corset, did nothing to hide her already thin waist. Her bodice was perfectly tailored to enhance her beauty, with her décolletage showing a slight hint of the swell of her breasts and the smooth valley between them. Her full skirt allowed her to appear even more graceful and her feet – her tiny, feminine feet – were peeping out of her skirt from time to time in those violet silk slippers decorated with amethyst.

She was so beautiful.

"Capitaine, what a pleasure to see you 'ere."

"My pleasure, Madame."

"Please, Capitaine, you must call me Helene. Madame makes me feel much too old."

"But of course, Helene."

"Will you tell me about zat girl you 'ave brought with you zis time?"

"Ah, Amelia, yes. I found her in the New World, and decided to bring her here."

"Your newest beau, per'aps?"

"No, a little sister, if you will. I simply hope Alice manages to keep her in line. She apparently caught her once protesting corsets."

"Ah, scandalous little child, eez she?"

"If you say so."

Captain Kirkland replied with a tightened smile. He was rather protective of his little girl, as scandalous and outgoing as she was.

She didn't notice his tightened smile as she continued.

"Ah, but Francis is making 'is way 'ere. Please, take me away on a dance, Capitaine."

Captain Kirkland merely raised one of his bushy eyebrows as he bowed and led her to the dance floor.

"I was under the impression that you and Sir Bonnefoy were happily married?"

She snorted.

"Az 'appy az one can be wiz an unfaithful 'usband."

"I see."

He most certainly did not see the need to pry, especially when he was already having a rather hard time controlling himself from his beauty in his arms.

"So, Capitaine, would you like to tell me more about your … adventures … in the sitting room?"

She whispered to his ear in a sultry voice, running her finger delicately on his shoulders, stopping just short of his neck. He could feel the heat rising up straight from his groin. He wanted to take her, so very much. He wished he could take up on her offer.

"Capitaine, it is unwise to deny a woman when she has made an offer."

When she breathed such tempting words in his ears, he could feel his resolve melt and become desire pooling deep in his abdomen.

"Please, Arthur … you must take me. Sil vous plait?"

When she spoke with such intimacy, in her native language, her accent thick … he simply could no longer take it.

"Helene-"

He croaked, his resolve completely broken down and his heart a frantic slave to her whims.

The song finished.

"Please, Capitaine, you must escort me to the gardens – I wish to have a breath of fresh air."

She took his offered arm and they walked silently into the dark gardens.

The sexual tension between them was palpable. It was too great. It overwhelmed him much more than it should have.

They walked silently until they reached a little bench surrounded by tall hedges and trees, out of view and farther than is usual for a simple walk.

"Helene…"

She simply walked to his arms and buried her face in the crook of his neck.

"Arthur…I 'ave been waiting for you. I 'ave waited for so long, for you to ask me to marry you. Why…why did you go away, mon chere? Why did you leave?"

"Helene, I-I couldn't ask you. Not when I had nothing. I had to have something to ensure a proper life with you and when I came back, fully prepared, I heard about your betrothal to the frog! My heart was always yours to begin with, love."

"Oh, Arthur…"

Neither of them could stand what happened afterwards. Like the pull of gravity, their lips crashed into each other frantically, seeking the other out. Their souls were mingling, their breaths heavy, their hearts laid bare.

His hands frantically sought out her skin, milky smooth and so soft. His coarse hands ran down her shoulders, feeling her collar bones and lower, reaching the creamy mounds of flesh. He impatiently pulled down the top of her bodice, revealing her precious globes of flesh with their pink tips. He licked his lips, desperate for a taste, then bent his head and suckled like a newborn babe.

She cried out, the feeling too intense to be held in. She undid his coat, pulling his shirt up and revealing more of his torso for her exploration. She could feel the rough worn skin, the tiny scars littering his torso, a larger scar from dueling, and a light pattering of hair on his lower stomach, leading the way to her ultimate goal.

He groaned from the touch. Her tiny smooth hands touching him in ways he only imagined – it was truly his dream coming true. He remembered the times when he simply relieved himself at the hands of rough worn women at the whorehouses near the harbor and he was feeling the difference. Her smooth hands were greedy and eager, yet not as experienced nor as predictable. He ran his coarse hands down her cinched waist covered with corset and bunched her skirt up around her waist. He ran his hands up her bare legs – bare legs! The little minx had been planning this all along!

She knew she had been found out, but she no longer cared. She was no longer playing coy when he ran his rough hands just so up her thighs to the juncture between her legs. She cried out when he ran his fingers down her slit, and she moaned out when he paused his thumb and pressed her little button. She sobbed from the intense pleasure when he lowered his mouth to her nether lips and drank her sweet nectar. She felt like she would collapse from the pleasure when he removed his lips and lowered his trousers.

He was close to bursting. He felt as if he would explode from the sheer pleasure of tasting her honey. It would not do to embarrass himself in front of her, so he quickly lowered his trousers, relieving some of the pressure it had on his cock. She looked up at him, pleading him with her beautiful amethyst eyes. Unable to stand the tension, he buried himself deep inside her as he lowered himself to take her lips.

Time stopped, trapping them in this moment of contentment and joy, as they were consumed by unadulterated love and lust. The moment ended much too quickly for either one of them.

Arthur looked down at her flushed face, her hair no longer perfect but in a disarray, her breasts heaving and her skirt bunched at her waist, her thighs glistening with their mixed fluid. At this moment, she was more beautiful than she had ever been in her life. He knelt in front of this goddess, vowing to give his life and honor for this one woman who held his heart since they had first met at the tender age of 13.

"I love you, Helene. I will give you my heart; your wish will forever be my command."

"Je t'aime, Arthur."

Grace: Ah, I love France, be it male or female. Next up! Tube Top!


	5. Chapter 5: Tube Top

I'm on a rage! I thought I might as well continue while I'm in a pervy mood. Enjoy!

America x Fem! England. Set in the modern era.

5. Tube Top

For once, Alfred sincerely had nothing to say. His jaw was hitting ground and it wasn't coming up anytime soon.

His little sister, the daring little minx, had put his long-time girlfriend in some skimpy weird top to run around the town all night!

"Amelia! Alice! Wha-Where do you think you're going, dressed like that!?"

At least Arthur had his mind to yell at them. Amelia he understood. The girl was always so provocative, wearing revealing clothes that showed her legs, belly, and even cleavage! But Alice! His dear Alice!

"Clubbing, duh."

Amelia replied. Alice blushed profusely and looked at anywhere but Alfred. Right now, the floor was holding her eyes.

The boys were going to love this, she was told. Amelia finally convinced Alice to wear some of Amelia's smaller clothes, but this top was scandalous. It was bad enough that her pants were clinging to her like a second skin, but this top that showed off her shoulders and collarbone and dare she say what little cleavage she had, was simply too scandalous. She didn't have Amelia's curves. She really shouldn't have went along with it. Now Alfred would be disappointed and break up with her. Gods, why did she go through with this? Oh, right. Amelia.

"Ivan said we'll meet up at this new club, and that he'd be bringing a friend. I thought I might bring Alice along so the other guy could have some company, too. Gosh, what's the big deal?"

"The big deal is, Alice is my little sister! You've corrupted her, you, you, you little she-devil!"

"Shut up, Artie. Alice is my girlfriend! I can take her wherever I want."

Alfred really wanted to say something. He really did. He wanted to tell her that she looked so gosh darn pretty and sexy and beautiful and scrumptious and everything but his mouth simply wouldn't move.

"Alfred? Earth to Alfred?"

Alfred was called back to conscious by Amelia, who was facing off Arthur and currently was asking for support from her brother.

"Y-yeah?"

"Well, what do you think about this new look?"

"Gods, Alice, you, you look so goddamn good."

Alice blushed even more. She was so adorable, in those tight skinny jeans and the tube top, her hairs in pigtails and her makeup making her eyes pop out.

At that moment, Alfred no longer saw Arthur and Amelia fighting over Alice. He only saw his girlfriend, provocatively dressed, blushing and please by his compliment.

"Alice, you make me speechless. Gods, Alice you're so beautiful. You're always so pretty but when you wear that you look so sexy it makes me want to take you in my arms and carry you upstairs and make sweet, sweet love you to all night long. I want to have you for me forever and ever. Holy Christ, Alice, I love you so much."

Well, he was blabbering now but it didn't matter because there was no one else in the world but he and Alice and he didn't care whether he was blabbering to Alice or not.

He didn't see Arthur and Amelia's conspiring looks because at that moment, Alice decided to jump into his arms and throw her limbs around his torso. He buried his face in her hair, smelling her clean fresh scent.

"Gods, I love you so much, Alice. I really, really love you."

"I love you, too, Alfred F. Jones."

She mumbled it but he definitely heard it. He ran up the stairs with Alice in his arms, his goofy grin on his face.

Grace: Not so much porn, but I thought it was sweet how Alfred was being an idiot when his pretty girlfriend become hot. Next up! Socks!


	6. Chapter 6: Socks

I honestly couldn't see anyone else with socks on while having sex. Good ol' Fruk.

6. Socks

Arthur always wore socks while they were having sex. It never bothered Francis, who accepted lovers no matter how they came through, but it certainly did make him curious.

"Angleterre, mon chere, why do you wear socks when we make love?"

"None of your business, stupid frog."

Ah, well. At least this time he didn't deny that they were making love and use that vulgar word – fuck – to describe the magic.

But Francis was still curious.

We all know that curiosity killed the cat.

But then we've been told that satisfaction brought it back. Besides, cats have nine lives, don't they?

One night, when they were lethargic after a frantic session of love making, Francis decided on a different approach. While the Brit was sleeping, Francis cuffed his rather violent hands to the bedpost and carefully removed his socks.

Jesus.

Arthur's feet were beautiful. They were pale, slender, and almost dainty. It was a beautiful pair of feet and it was such a shame to hide them all the time in those ugly plain white socks.

At that moment, Arthur decided to open his eyes from the short nap after sex. He saw Francis looking passionately at – his feet?

"GAH! STUPID FROG!"

Arthur kicked his feet, just in time for Francis to narrowly dodge the kick.

"Ah, Angleterre~ You're awake!"

Francis grabbed Arthur's feet with his hands, lovingly caressing them and bringing them to his mouth to worship.

Francis' lips reverently touched the big toe on Arthur's right foot when a loud moan interrupted the silence.

Francis looked up to see Arthur's flushed and panting face looking at his lips making contact with his toe.

Mon Dieu, was he…?

Francis gave a tentative lick to the pad of his toe and Arthur arched his torso, another moan tearing from his throat.

Francis gulped at the realization. Yes, his Angleterre was most definitely a foot person. This was the hottest discovery he had made about his fellow European nation.

His cock most certainly agreed.

Suddenly his pants were too constricting. He removed his pants with a flourish, placing a finger at Arthur's anus to prepare him for the intrusion. Not that it was necessary. Arthur was still plenty wet and stretched out from their earlier session.

Careful to continue his worship of Arthur's feet, Francis carefully lined himself with Arthur's opening, gently nudging his penis inside. Arthur was crying out, sobbing, begging, ready to climax from the sheer pleasure of being stretched as well as the assault on his feet.

When Francis finally sheathed himself fully inside Arthur, Arthur climaxed with a cry. The mixed stimulation of his feet and his anus was too intense. He lay limp as Francis finished with a final suck to his toes.

They lay limp in each other's arms, too exhausted to comment about this new discovery.

Francis was trying to play footsie with him under the table. He could feel the familiar warmth spread. Gods, he couldn't wait until the kids left. Then, he'll show Francis who's the boss. But until Alfred and Matthew had their fill of the meal, he'll have to put up with Francis' assault.

Grace: I do love Francis exploiting Arthur's weaknesses, that slimy git. Next up! BRA!


End file.
